“There is some trifling matter of business toward,” said he. “The gentlemen have money to pay, if we will but set ourselves to earn it.”
The huge woman rolled from the inner room with ponderous slowness.
“Money, did you say?” she inquired, with a sharp greed in her tone. “How much, and what’s to do?”
There was a moment’s silence; then the landlord spoke slowly.
“The sum is thirty sovereigns—golden sovereigns,” his lips smacking the last words as though the taste of the yellow metal was upon his tongue.
“To be sure, golden ones, if they are sovereigns at all, idiot. Who ever heard of sovereigns of any lesser metal?”
Hawkins laughed at this.
“They will be easily earned,” said he. “And we will pay, money down, the instant the thing is over with.”
“What’s to do?” asked the woman once more.
“The gentlemen are friends to the two lads up-stairs,” said the landlord. “And they desire that they shall be given into their charge.”